Thursday, December 22, 2011

Three Wise Women

I was thinking of the Christmas story the other day and I thought, poor Mother Mary. That poor mama. When her first child was born she was surrounded by jackasses, sheep, and men. I have nothing against jackasses, sheep, and especially men, but when I have just had something the size of a watermelon come out of my vagina what I want to be surrounded by (besides my partner) is women. Women who have been there and women that can relate to that experience. Especially with the first baby. People can tell you what it's going to be like after you have a child, but the exhaustion, the changes in your body, those cannot be imagined pre-labor. At least for me. I had to experience child birth to really know how silly putty feels after a child plays with it for the first time.

Poor Mary, what did she get after she gave birth? Three wise men bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I do not mean to put down these gifts. At the time gold, frankincense, and myrrh were so valuable Mary and Joseph probably bought their house with them and put away money for Jesus to go carpentry school, however, if I were Mary, I would have wished that those guys would've waited a few days, or weeks until I didn't feel like my elephantiasis girl parts were hanging out and my boobs were soda guns. I would only want women to see me so vunerable, so very, very real.

Really, immediately after my children were born, I only wanted their dad to be with me. Later I wanted my ladies to come in and laugh and nurture and hang out. If it were three wise women with Mary there would have been food. Hot nurturing food. That stable would have been cleaned up, and if it were the amazing ladies in my neighborhood, it probably would have been transformed into a cool ass house. If it had been three wise women there would have been ice packs for Mary's vajay jay, and pajama jeans with a sweet ass nursing top, preferably fleece lined or velor. Wise women would sit and hold the baby while Mary napped. They would have rubbed her back and feet.  They would not stare and awe at this baby because he was the messiah. Those wise women would stare in awe at Jesus because he was a miracle, just like all babies. Beautiful, and exhausting and worth it.

If the wise women were married they would have brought their husbands who would have taken Joseph out to decompress. If no husbands were available one of the wise women would arrange a project for Joseph so he could feel like he had a job. They would have been out of the way when necessary and by Mary's side when see needed it. They would have laugh or cried as needed. They would know how to make jokes about immaculate conception, and babies in a manager. They would know how to make use of sheep and jackasses.

Wise women are very real in my life and maybe that's why I feel so bad for Mary.  I have so many wise women I could not narrow it down to three for this post. I have Jills of all trades, healers, Mama bears, and jesters. I have Mother Marys and Mary Magdalenes, I have Maya Angelous, and Amelia Earharts. I have women who are real, and fallable. Just like me. I have women who, when the jackass shits next to the manager, get down on their hands and knees with a laugh and clean that mess up. That's why I ache for Mary in the stable, surrounded by not her mother, or sisters, or friends, but by her loving husband, who was just as clueless as she, and three old wise men who had never experienced the miraculous and completely mind blowing experience of having a baby come out of your body. I ache for her lonely heart and for her body that needed loving just as much as that baby's.

But the time has past, and that experience was Mary's karma. So what I will say to her is this: Merry Christmas, Mother Mary.  You done good, girl. If some day in our travels through these infinite lives we meet, I will bring the breast pump and the ice pack maxi pads, and you, my sweet, bring on the Prince of Peace.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Life Happens, Beyotch

Recently I've been shaken. Emotionally shaken, though it felt a little like someone put me in the martini mixer and gave me a good whirl. Shaken, not stirred. Two times it's happened in the past two months. Let's hope this isn't my new once a month pattern.

Heller Keller said, "Security is an illusion. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all." My security has been shaken. This post was going to focus on fear. It was going to focus on the fact that I had a bad feeling about some guys I spoke to on the street, and then one followed me. It was going to focus on trusting my gut and the fear of being followed, but then Savior Single Mama said to me about the experience, "It's okay. It just shattered your false sense of security. Just give it a few weeks and you will feel safe again." and that's when I realized this wasn't about being followed. This was about delusion. The delusion that I am safe. That life does not happen. That I am in control.

I have become a master at insulating myself and my children. I do not watch the news, or crime dramas on t.v. We live in a sweet little nest of a neighborhood, where, for the most part, we are sheltered from crime. I mainly focus on what is right in front of me and I try to remind myself that this moment might be my last so live it up. But that saying falls on a deafened heart and many times though I know intellectually that it is true, I forget in my soul that life is short, and unpredictable, and no one is immune from death or trauma. The funny thing is I take it so personally when the message is the delivered. It really throws me for a loop. I am the empress with no clothes, please don't tell me I'm naked. Please don't tell me I'm one breath away from death, just like everyone else. Once this is pointed out (and it must be again and again), I run shaking, shaken and stirred, and I retreat.

Two months ago I was in a car wreck, not a major one, I'm fine, kids not with me (thank the Buddhas), my car....well, he didn't fare so well. Then I had this guy in the neighborhood where I work scare the shit out of me, and then there was a shooting on a college campus near me. Smack, smack, smack. My face burns from the wake up call of reality. This moment is it. Don't waste it. Security is an illusion baby life happens.

Last week I went to a meditation class where the question was, "What takes you from your center?" My therapist reworded it to, "What blocks you from returning to your center?" The fear that erupted in me with the wreck and the creepy guy took me away from my center and it took me a while to return. I get the whole flight or fight process and what that physically does to me, but I did not like the feeling that I could not ground myself because of my fear. That feeling feeds into the fear and makes it worse because then I feel out of control and everyone knows a Queenpin needs to be in control.

This week I've been working on returning to center. When I feel my consciousness drift, which is often, I bring it back into my heart. I pull myself back in my body and I try to live this moment. I'm trying to walk the thin line between being comfortable and being aware. I'm trying to lift my blinders and see life as it is; unpredictable, full of dark and light. I'm trying to accept reality, not just the Polly Anna shit I like to tell myself. But I also bought some mace, and my man has taught me some common sense self-defense moves. If my mind is going to go off on its own in my moment of fear, I want the body to be able to gouge out an eye.